


Hearts and Flowers

by pearl_o



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-21
Updated: 2005-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duck's always liked sunny days more than rainy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts and Flowers

Dan's face is always wet when they finish having sex.

The first time was a week after Dan got out of the hospital -- Duck had gone down on him, trying to make it nice and slow and gentle, trying to make it good for him; afterward he crawled up the bed to lie beside Dan, but when he kissed him Dan's face was slick with tears.

"What's wrong?" Duck said hoarsely, pulling away.

Dan had blinked, looking confused. "What?"

"Your face."

Dan had wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I don't know. I didn't notice." He put his hand back on Duck's face, and kissed again. "I don't -- I don't think it matters."

Duck took hold of Dan's wrist and turned his hand, kissing the back of it and tasting the salt there.

By now, Duck knows the taste of Dan's tears as well as he knows the taste of Dan's mouth, the shape of Dan's profile, the calluses of Dan's hands.

* * *

Sometimes Duck thinks what he really wants is to make Dan happy.

It's a stupid thought. You can't ever make somebody else happy -- it's stupid to even try, because it doesn't work. That's one of the things everybody has to do for themselves. Being in love with somebody doesn't make everything all better, not outside of bedtime stories.

It's not like Duck isn't fucked-up himself, either. He's working on it, he's been working on it for a long time, but he's not in any position to be throwing stones.

Duck can count the number of times he's seen Dan smile -- real smiles, genuine ones, bright ones -- on his fingers. It's like the sun coming from out behind the clouds.

Duck's always liked sunny days more than rainy.

Maybe he's just looking at it the wrong way. Maybe it's relative -- because Dan is happier now than he was before, than he was before everything happened. Duck believes that.

Sometimes when he looks at Dan, Dan's already looking at him, and sometimes Duck looks at the expression on Dan's face and thinks, _Maybe this *is* what Dan looks like when he's happy._

* * *

Dan is staying with Duck. It's not permanent -- they're not moving in together, not like that -- but Dan did a pretty good job of clearing out his life before everything went down. So he's staying here, with Duck, until he decides what exactly he wants to do now. He's taking his time so far. Maybe coming back from the dead gives you a free vacation from real life, and Dan's just stretching his out, the most he can.

In the morning Duck walks down and buys them coffee, and they eat breakfast at the kitchen table, where Duck never ate when he was by himself.

Afterwards, Duck drives into town for work. Everybody on the Island knows about them, knows Dan's living at his place. And people say things, but so far they seem to only say them to Duck, and not to Dan, so Duck doesn't worry about it much; he could give a shit what those people think.

Dan makes dinner, mostly, sandwiches or soup or salads, stuff that doesn't make them turn on the oven in the sweltering evening kitchen. Most evenings they sit out on the chairs on Duck's back porch and drink lemonade and watch the sunset.

They don't talk much, and Duck likes that, likes that they can be silent and comfortable, that he can close his eyes and know Dan is right there beside him.

Duck looks over at Dan, who is gazing out into the woods below. Duck thinks that a century ago, everybody would have just thought they were confirmed bachelors and good friends, living out here together. Nobody would have said a thing.

Duck thinks that maybe in another century, everybody would know, and nobody would say a word then, because nobody would care. It wouldn't even matter.

That's not where they are; they're here and now. But Duck's house is way out on the edge of the island, facing the trees and the grass and the water beyond all of it, and there are no neighbours to worry about. And sometimes Duck reaches and holds Dan's hand, or walks over to sit between his legs and rest his head on Dan's chest, and sometimes he kisses him, right there before God and underneath the starry sky, like they're really free.


End file.
